


When Daybreak Comes

by dapperyklutz



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ensemble Cast, Families of Choice, Family of Choice, Fictional Realism, Fluff and Humor, Gen, M/M, Musician Jaskier | Dandelion, Pop Culture, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:14:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29876847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapperyklutz/pseuds/dapperyklutz
Summary: "How are you, Jaskier?"“If you asked me that five years ago, I would’ve said that I was feeling fantastic and it would’ve been a lie. But now? Honestly? I’m doing really well.”“Yeah?”Jaskier smiles, dimples showing as his eyes quickly dart to the side.“Yup. Almost twenty years in the industry and I can honestly disclose to you now that I’m at my happiest and healthiest — in mind, body, and soul. I mean, sure, the journey wasn’t easy, but it was necessary, I suppose. To have ended up where I am, I’d call it a miracle.”~After scoring numerous #1 hits and snagging prestigious awards, Jaskier Pankratz is the most successful musician of his generation. Everyone he knows repeatedly tells him that he's making history, and Jaskier believes them, lapping up all the praise and accolades from his critics and passionate fans. But after a series of scandals and rumours sully his reputation, the world holds its breath when Jaskier disappears from the public eye for years.A story of love and heartbreak, of second chances and consequences, of choosing one's family, and ultimately, finding happiness in the right places, with the right people.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Triss Merigold
Comments: 7
Kudos: 34





	When Daybreak Comes

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone!
> 
> So, this fic has undergone a lot of changes. It's been almost a year since I started writing this and I'm only halfway through with it. I know, I know. I lost inspiration around May 2020, and only started again around December/January this year. So far, there are 15 chapters ready; I just need to do some more minor edits and proofreading, and I'm also busy re-writing the 16th. Updates will be every week, and I hope I get to make great progress because it appears that I'm the sort of writer who needs external validation. :D
> 
> That said, this fic is, well, a labor of love. Plus, it's self-indulgent. I initially came up with this idea as a sort of escapism for me during the first lockdown. Not only that, but I couldn't find any fics that had what I was looking for, so I decided that I'll write it instead. References will be cited at the end of each chapter, and there are some easter eggs all-throughout which is important to the story/plot so pay attention, dear reader. ;)
> 
> Tags and Additional Characters will be added as we go along. This story spans a long time (what was I thinking, you ask? I don't know, I'm an idiot, I'm sorry). It's going to be a very slow burn, but it'll all be worth it, I promise, so I hope you're ready to partake in this journey with me.
> 
> Art and original songs are designed/written by me unless stated otherwise. Another thing you should know is that Jaskier's birthday is on **December 29, 1991**. It's probably not important to you, but I deem it necessary so as to avoid any confusion in later chapters.
> 
> Well, let's get on with the show now, shall we? Please enjoy!

_March 2019_

“Thank you so much for agreeing to do this,” the interviewer, a blond rotund man in his mid-thirties, says with a dimpled smile.

Jaskier smiles and inclines his head at him.

“Not a problem at all. Thank you for having me.”

“The pleasure’s ours,” the interviewer, Jamie, replies sincerely. He takes a sip from his bottled water before capping it closed and placing it on the coffee table between them. He clears his throat before he continues. “Well, Mr. Pankratz, you’ve made quite a name for yourself, especially these past couple of years.”

The dark-haired singer chuckles a little self-consciously. “Just a bit. And Jaskier would do, Jamie. I thought this was supposed to be an informal setting. You sound as if I’m about to be punished by the headmaster.”

Jamie chuckles lightly before he meets Jaskier’s cornflower blue eyes with an earnest look.

“Point taken. You were gone for quite a long time.”

Jaskier shrugs self-deprecatingly. “Oh, it wasn’t that long.”

“Two years is quite a long time,” Jamie reiterates kindly. Then jokingly, he adds, “It’s like you pulled a Sherlock Holmes on us.”

Jaskier’s short burst of laughter sounds genuine as the singer says, “Okay, I guess I deserve that. But I’m not sorry,” he adds in a quieter voice.

“And you shouldn’t,” Jamie agrees softly, his smile softening. “Hence why we’re here. I’ve got a few questions for you, Jaskier. And by a few, I mean I have a long list of topics I wanna go over with you, so I hope you got my email about packing an overnight bag.”

Jaskier snorts, although there’s a familiar lopsided smile on his face which Jamie instantly notes looks different from a few years ago.

“Oh yeah, I had a feeling you weren’t exaggerating about that,” Jaskier replies. “I probably packed for more than a night, but better safe than sorry, right?”

Jamie nods his head. “Right. I remember you mentioned in your email that it’s a couple of hours’ drive from here?”

Here, meaning Jaskier’s home in Hampstead.

“Yeah, at least five hours if we’re going to exclude the stops in-between.”

“Oh, okay. That’s pretty far.”

Jaskier nods. “So, do you have any questions you want to ask?”

Jamie takes another sip of his bottled water before he nods. “Yes, I do. Just a few for now. And I want to start by asking you: how are you, Jaskier?”

If Jaskier is surprised by the question, he hides it well. Although Jamie doesn’t miss the slight twitch of the singer’s lips, cornflower blue eyes glancing down at the coffee table between them before looking up to meet Jamie’s curious, patient gaze.

“If you asked me that five years ago, I would’ve said that I was feeling fantastic and it would’ve been a lie,” Jaskier admits, one hand moving up to scratch the back of his head. “But now? Honestly? I’m doing really well.”

“Yeah?”

Jamie thinks that there’s something intimate in the way Jaskier smiles, dimples showing as his eyes quickly dart to the side.

“Yup,” Jaskier responds, popping the ‘p’. “Almost twenty years in the industry and I can honestly disclose to you now that I’m at my happiest and healthiest — in mind, body, and soul. I mean, sure, the journey wasn’t easy, but it was necessary, I suppose. To have ended up where I am, I’d call it a miracle.”

Jamie nods in understanding. “Could’ve gone better, though, no?”

Jaskier shrugs. “It certainly could’ve, but that’s just life, I guess.”

Jamie nods again as the man before him takes a long sip of his coffee. “If you don’t mind, would you take us back to the beginning? Before the fame, before the awards and the scandals, and the rumours. I think I not only speak for myself when I say that everyone who will watch this documentary would want to truly know your story. Not Jaskier the iconic superstar. But just… Jaskier.”

“Just Jaskier,” the singer repeats slowly, a contemplative look on his face. When Jamie hums, he sees Jaskier’s lips curve into a half-smile. “Hmm. So not Jaskier Pankratz, the singer-songwriter manwhore who slept his way to the top?”

Jamie’s face must’ve shifted into a scandalised expression because Jaskier breaks out into peals of laughter.

“Um…”

“Oh, God, your face! So sorry, darling. Relax, I was only joking.”

Jamie shakes his head and he breathes out through his nose as he waits for Jaskier’s laughter to subside.

“Not gonna lie, you nearly had me there.”

Jaskier grins, appearing completely unapologetic. “Oops. Sorry.”

Jamie chuckles and shakes his head again. “Don’t worry about it. You’re yourself, which is great. Be as organic as you want to be.”

In response, the singer-songwriter just raises an eyebrow, eyes sparkling before his face sobers once more, clearing his throat once as he shifts in his seat to a more comfortable position.

Jamie patiently waits as Jaskier takes another deep breath, only to let it out slowly through his nose.

“Right. Back to the beginning, you said? My story?” At Jamie’s nod, Jaskier breathes out again. “Well, for starters, I suppose it’s public knowledge that ‘Jaskier’ is my nickname, growing up. I was born Julian Alfred Pankratz in Oxford, the youngest of four children. I grew up learning to play a dozen instruments, and when I was eleven, my siblings and I formed this band called the _Modern Minstrels_. We won competitions at talent shows over Britain before we got signed into a record label...”

* * * * * *

_Late 2006_

Jaskier is fourteen when he leaves _Modern Minstrels_. Almost four years in the “family business” was more than enough experience for the young teen to decide that he wanted to go solo. He hated the politics that came behind every single orchestrated move he and his siblings had to make. From the clothes they wore to the answers they had to give in interviews, down to the songs they sang and the instruments they should play live.

Granted, they started singing covers by the usual timeless classics of artists like The Beatles, Elvis Presley, Queen, to name a few. But by the time he was twelve, Jaskier wrote a short song titled _”Dandelion”_ , and after performing it to his family, it sparked a change in their dynamics. Jaskier’s parents, Filomena and Alfred Pankratz, served as the band’s managers. When they were eventually signed into a record label called Kerack Records, Filomena and Alfred negotiated with the producers and team of lawyers that ensured the Pankratz family would get a significant percentage of the profit that Modern Minstrels will be making. The contract was filled with jargon that passed over Jaskier’s head, and Jaskier, who only wanted to write music, didn’t care about that bit at all.

After releasing their second album, the first that’s penned by the band (because Jaskier can’t take sole credit, even though all _twelve_ tracks were _his_ words, _his_ thoughts, it didn’t matter because he’s in a band and it’s the _family business_ ), they earned their first nominations. Although they lost Song of the Year and Best New Artist, being lauded as one of the youngest musicians in history to be nominated for two major categories at the BRIT Awards was a huge achievement for Jaskier. Of course, managing to penetrate the US audience after performing at a few late night shows certainly helps lessen the sting of losing.

Still, it paved the way for opportunities Jaskier didn’t know was within his grasp. He was praised for his talents, and in one article by Music Week, Jaskier was described as “a young teen with an old soul who plays like a pro and croons ballads like he’s lived it, and when armed with pen and paper can take you places with his magnetic storytelling approach to songwriting”.

In the long run, the politics and greediness for _more merch, more venues, more money_ , the kind of mentality his parents cultivated ended up becoming the last straw for Jaskier to go behind their back and discreetly send one of the executive producers and co-founder of Redania Records a demo of a few songs he’d written in his spare time. It was his version of a cry for help, a last-ditch attempt to escape an environment that had become a hindrance to honing his talents and skills and exploring different avenues in music-making.

So it was a surprise when several weeks later, after he sent the demo tape to one Lukas Redania, that he was instantly offered a contract by the man himself. It was a better offer from what was given to Modern Minstrels, because this time Jaskier would have creative control over the music he’ll make.

“Of course, we’ll need to sit down with your parents since you’re still a minor,” Redania informs Jaskier over the phone after he delivered the best news Jaskier had received in a very long time. Before the teen can begin to feel disheartened, Redania continues speaking. “We’ll have to gather the whole team once your folks have signed the agreement to let you split off from the band. You came to me with this demo at a perfect time, Jaskier. I look forward to meeting with you soon.”

Hope blooms like a flower in Jaskier’s chest at the confirmation that he’s finally, _finally_ going to be able to make the music he wants. It’s no longer a dream, he thinks, because it’s _really happening_.

“I just want to make the kind of music I want to sing,” Jaskier admits sheepishly.

He briefly wonders what his parents’ reactions will be. Thinks of their shocked faces that will quickly morph into fury at Jaskier’s insolence. He thinks of Sophie’s crestfallen expression, Daisy’s furrowed brows as she digests the news, and Tommy’s scowl once he learns his baby brother’s ditching them.

Jaskier shudders and shakes his head, pushing those unwanted images to the back of his mind. _Not important now,_ he thinks.

Redania chortles on the other end of the line, and the man doesn’t hesitate to tell Jaskier, “My boy, with those demos I just listened to, you’ll be making history.”

Jaskier, naturally, lapped up the praise like a baby being handed his favourite toy. At the time, he didn’t know just how prophetic Redania’s words were.

* * * * * *

_Mid-2008_

  
_”This is all I ever wanted and it was all I ever dreamed,  
But I knew having both was a reality no one believed,  
Then I walked over the fence where the grass was greener,  
And to my surprise, I find myself in paradise,  
Standing underneath these golden skies”_  
  
 **— Golden Skies —**  


Jaskier releases his debut studio album in late October, two months before he turns sixteen. 

_Jaskier Pankratz_ is a twelve-track record that features his first Top 10 UK Official Singles Chart song _Golden Skies_. The song, and the self-titled album, was a massive success. Thanks to his experience with _Modern Minstrels_ , marketing and distributing his music went off without a hitch, and it earned Jaskier several national and international nominations and awards, including three Grammy nominations, in which he won the award for Best New Artist. It was a labour of love, borne out of crumbled pieces of paper and tears and calloused fingers. He’d already written half of the album, thanks to the demo he gave to Redania, so it only took a little over five months to write and record the rest.

“Just got a call from one of the representatives at BPI,” Triss Merigold, Jaskier’s new Public Relations manager, tells him one day over the phone.

Jaskier, who’s still in bed and eating Lucky Charms out of the box while an episode of The Simpsons plays on mute, perks up at the news and sits up straighter.

“What did they say?” he asks as he mutes the telly, his heart beginning to pound against his ribcage.

There’s a slight pause for dramatic effect and Jaskier’s fucking _dying_ to know already until Triss finally announces with pride in her voice, “ _Jaskier Prankatz_ is officially a seven-time platinum album in the UK!”

Whatever Triss says next is drowned out by Jaskier bolting from his bed and whooping in delight. Shirtless and in boxers, he rushes barefoot from his room to the study where his godfather Ermion is currently reading the paper.

“Seven-time platinum! Seven-time platinum!” Jaskier chants in glee, phone still in hand and Triss still talking about some strategy or whatever. Probably another public appearance, who knows? Jaskier’s up for anything at this point because — _hello?_ His _first_ solo album just sold over two million copies in the UK _alone_ , and this is just the beginning of everything Jaskier always dreamed of.

Ermion, who really prefers to be called Mousesack for some reason, looks up from the newspaper at Jaskier, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles at his godson.

“Splendid news, Julian! I believe congratulations are in order,” Ermi— _Mousesack_ utters jovially as he beams at his Jaskier. “Shall we celebrate with a dinner at that fancy Italian place you like?”

Jaskier ignores the fact that Mousesack still elects to call him by his birth name, and instead grins and gives his godfather a thumbs up at the suggestion.

“Thanks! Can we invite Triss?”

“Of course, m’boy.”

“Awesome, hang on.”

Jaskier walks out of the study with a final wave at his amused godfather as he lifts his phone to his ear. Thankfully, Triss hasn’t ended the call yet.

“Hey, Triss? Wanna have dinner with Mousesack and I tonight at the usual place?”

There’s a huff on the other end but Triss replies with fondness in her tone, “You’re lucky I like you, kid.”

“So is that a yes?” Jaskier asks cheekily. He’s only known Triss for a year but the young teen already considers her one of his favourite people.

He hears Triss chuckle before she replies. “Yeah, I’ll be there.” The _of course I will_ was left unsaid, but Jaskier heard it all the same.

“Awesome. Does seven work for you?”

“Yeah, seven’s perfect. Listen, I have to go. I’m meeting with the Marketing team to go over the final details of the tour with Snow Patrol, plus I need to finish preparing that briefing packet for you before your interview with BBC Radio this week.”

Jaskier is still grinning like an idiot when he says, “Yeah, go ahead. Send my best to the team. Thanks again, Triss! See you later.”

Before he can hang up, he hears his publicist say one last thing before the call disconnects.

“Congrats again, kiddo. You just made history as the youngest artist to reach seven-time platinum in the UK.”

On cloud nine, Jaskier does a victory dance in the privacy of his bedroom, making fist bumps in the air before finally jumping into his queen-sized bed. His face is starting to hurt from how hard he’s grinning, but Jaskier can’t help it.

He’s happy. Deliriously happy.

Inspired and still on a high from the news of the continued success of his album almost a year since it was released, Jaskier spends the rest of the afternoon in the music room.

Not once did it cross Jaskier’s mind to call his parents, or any of his siblings, to share the good news. They likely won’t feel the same, anyway.

* * * * * *

Touring around the world is more exhausting when you’re doing it solo, Jaskier thinks, but he wouldn’t change it for the world.

He’s a month and a half into headlining for Snow Patrol, and the young teen admits he’s having the best time of his life. Of course, because he’s still a minor, Mousesack has to accompany him everywhere he goes, and it certainly helps that the retired surgeon is officially Jaskier’s guardian.

“Have a great time out there tonight, Julian,” Mousesack tells Jaskier one night before he steps out to the stage in one of the venues in Chicago. He squeezes Jaskier’s shoulder, eyes crinkling in the corners.

“Thanks, Mousesack,” Jaskier answers and, before he loses his nerve, quickly hugs the man around the middle. Before Mousesack can reciprocate (or push him away, who knows?), Jaskier lets go with a grin. He turns to the direction of the stage and has only made a few steps when he pauses to look back at Mousesack with a small, sincere smile. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Then Jaskier turns and runs onstage to greet the screaming fans, completely missing the touched look on Mousesack’s face.

After breaking the news to his parents that he’s leaving the family business, the only other adult person in Jaskier’s life he could turn to was Mousesack. His godfather didn’t hesitate and gladly took the teen singer under his wing, welcoming Jaskier with open arms into his home in Notting Hill. Somehow, having Jaskier move in there with his larger-than-life presence and idealistic views, along with his instruments and clothes and records, made the place livelier and more lived in.

What’s surprising, however, was how it didn’t take much to convince his parents to sign away the consent forms for Mousesack to legally raise him. Perhaps Filomena and Alfred were more than eager to be rid of their youngest and most rebellious son after Jaskier signed under Redania Records.

But that doesn’t matter, not really. There was something about that transition period that made Jaskier want to write a song about it, but his thoughts are so jumbled it’s beyond incomprehensible for the moment. Besides, it’s alright if he doesn’t have the words yet. It’ll come to him sooner than later. He has all the time in the world, after all.

* * * * * *

They’re in Argentina when something magical happens.

Jaskier, who has watched countless videos on YouTube of his favourite musicians performing live, is more than aware of the fact that when your audience sings along with you, you know you’re doing a good job as a performer. However, what the sixteen-year-old didn’t anticipate was just how loud and _energetic_ the Argentinian crowds get in concerts.

It’s the third to last show of the tour, and Jaskier is in the middle of his set-list. Just him and his guitar, and the beautiful gathering of thirty-five thousand people before his eyes. Each song that Jaskier sang, from the Beatle-cover of Blackbird to some tracks from his Modern Minstrels days and down to his solo album, Jaskier can’t remember a minute, a _second_ , that the mass of fans before him didn’t sing along.

It was one thing when you were doing it as a fan, but being on the receiving end of it? These people singing words Jaskier wrote _back at him_ is a dream he hadn’t known would come true.

He’s in the middle of singing his hit single _”Golden Skies”_. Jaskier is strumming his guitar as he finishes the chorus, and he’s about to jump into the bridge — the bridge that’s sung a cappella — when it happens.

Before his eyes, thirty-five thousand pairs of hands clap in uncanny unison to a nameless beat, and their voices blend beautifully together as they sing to Jaskier:

_”Eyes on the clouds, feet on the ground_  
_I can feel the earth beat to the most beautiful sound_  
_Arms flung wide open like I can finally fly_  
_I know great things are coming under these golden skies.”_

Rendered speechless for several seconds, it takes the crowd screaming Jaskier’s name for the singer to shake his head and speak to the mic in amazement.

“Holy _shit_ , you sound so beautiful.”

If possible, the crowd screams louder, and Jaskier thinks he’s never felt so _alive_ than in this moment as he starts playing his guitar to finish the song.

_Remember this moment,_ Jaskier tells himself.

* * * * * *

By the time the tour ends in Toronto, Jaskier has finished writing the lyrics of the first song for his next album. He goes back to the hundreds of moments he’s lived with his fans onstage, and the emotions that experience evoked in him.

In the end, what Jaskier ends up composing is a fusion of modern and fairytale, fragments of fond memories he’s shared with thousands of people interspersed with vivid imagery and metaphors. He’s always had a guilty pleasure for fantasy and adventure, and god knows everyone who knows him is aware that Jaskier is an absolute sucker for love, adventure, and romance. So really, he’s not surprised that it’s blended into his songs.

After all, this song isn’t about him. It’s about the people who stood by him and cheered him on. It’s a song about holding on to one another and finding strength and inspiration in people, in strangers who choose to share with him their story.

This is for those who listen to the stories Jaskier also bravely puts out in the world.

* * * * * *

Three months into making his second album, Jaskier belatedly recognises a pattern he’s unconsciously been weaving.

He’s playing the piano at a recording studio in London, just feeling out the potential of a melody that’s been stuck in his mind for a few days now when something clicks in his mind. He catches the attention of one of the producers he’s collaborating with when he abruptly stops playing.

“Everything okay?” Shani asks in mild curiosity.

Jaskier nods distractedly as he grabs the thick leather-bound notebook from the arm of the couch, a gift from Mousesack on his birthday.

“Yeah, I just want to check something,” he replies, flipping through the pages of songs he’s written so far, eyes skimming through the lyrics for several seconds before, “Huh.”

Shani, who’s been working at the computer and mixing the latest song they’re collaborating on, glances at him.

“What is it?”

Jaskier hums, eyes roving over the pages one last time before he shuts the notebook close and turns to address the twenty-something producer.

“Just realised there’s a pattern to the songs I’ve been writing lately.”

“Oh?”

Jaskier nods. “They fall under a certain theme, so it makes sense that the rest of the album should have the same element.”

Shani looks more interested now as she asks, “Okay. What theme is it?”

Jaskier mulls over the question for several seconds before he goes with the first thing that popped in his mind.

“Fairy-tales, I think.”

“Like Alice In Wonderland?”

Jaskier shakes his head. “No. I don’t know. I mean, like, fairy-tales and adventure and magic and… _something_. I know it probably sounds stupid right now, but-”

“No no, it sounds good,” Shani interrupts with a placating nod. “I mean, you’re pretty adamant to have ‘Long Live’ as the first single. That’s like, setting the tone for the rest of the record once you release it. I think you’re onto something, Jaskier. Trust your guts.”

Hearing her saying those things proved to be a comfort to Jaskier, because he grins at Shani and nods.

“Thanks, Shani. I have a couple of ideas and I’d like to work with you on them once we’re done with this track.”

The producer grins at Jaskier and gives him a thumbs up. “Sure thing, love. You’re the magician.”

The casual drop of the endearment makes Jaskier blush. Thankfully, Shani already had her back on him.

* * * * * *

Jaskier doesn’t really talk to his family anymore. Some days, it hurts to think that his parents were so quick to cast him aside. Of course, Jaskier isn’t without fault; it was _his_ actions that resulted in the tenuous relationship with his family these past few years, after all.

Nonetheless, he’s managed to remain in semi-frequent contact with Daisy, the second youngest and closest to Jaskier’s age. Despite their strained conversations and the fact that _Modern Minstrels_ has been struggling with their career after he left, Daisy is the only one willing (begrudgingly so, but still) to keep in touch with Jaskier.

“Does a part of you ever regret doing what you did?” Daisy asks him one night over the phone when there is a lull in their conversation after Jaskier recounted the progress of his next record.

Puzzled at the random question, Jaskier says, “Regret doing what?”

“Leaving us,” his sister answers bluntly.

There’s a note of bitterness in Daisy’s tone that Jaskier doesn’t miss, and he tries to dismiss the phantom pain in his chest as he weighs on the question for a moment longer.

“No,” he says eventually, haltingly. “I don’t think I do.”

There’s silence on the end of the line. Jaskier doesn’t dare break it, deciding to wait patiently for his older sister to speak. It takes another minute before Daisy finally voices her thoughts.

“Well, it’s nice to know ditching your family for your own personal gain was worth it.”

There’s a click and then the call disconnects, leaving Jaskier clutching his phone to his ear in shock, the dial tone blaring annoyingly until he turns it off.

Sometimes, Jaskier forgets to acknowledge that the people he started his career in music with are the same people he grew up with. That the ones who supported and encouraged them to grow into their talents were their parents. His family.

But a stubborn part in Jaskier argues that they haven’t really acted like a family since he and his siblings established the band. Filomena and Alfred Pankratz turned out to be better managers than parents, and the longer the siblings spent disagreeing about almost everything that pertained to the band had only spurned Jaskier’s desire and, eventually, decision to break away from them.

He felt restricted and trapped. He was no longer happy, and when he saw an opportunity to leave the family business, Jaskier grasped it like a lifeline and held on to the proverbial rope until it was safe to do so.

So yeah, in the grand scheme of things, Jaskier can’t bring himself to feel regret for doing what he did.

He did the right thing, he knows he did, Jaskier concludes. He bites his lower lip, a habit he’s had since childhood.

_I think_.

* * * * * *

_December 2008_

Jaskier is seventeen when he discovers that parties are _fantastic_. He loves attending them when alcohol is involved. Granted, he’s only sticking to beer because the first time he tasted wine, he almost choked on it, much to Mousesack’s amusement. He prefers to avoid further public embarrassment, thank you very much.

So beer it is. For now.

“Having fun, Jaskier?” Triss asks when she reaches Jaskier’s side. She’s carrying a flute of champagne on one manicured hand, and she raises her glass to Jaskier in toast before she takes a small sip.

“So far so good,” Jaskier says with a shrug, one hand in the pocket of his dark slacks while his other ring-laden fingers loosely grasp the neck of the beer bottle. “You look gorgeous, Triss.”

She really does. Jaskier casts an appreciative glance over his publicist’s hourglass figure, made prominent by the mauve form-fitting dress she’s wearing. Her loose curls frame her heart-shaped face beautifully, and Jaskier winks cheekily at Triss when the woman notices his ogling and laughs at him.

Triss playfully swats the back of Jaskier’s head, but the latter doesn’t miss the way her eyes drag over his laidback figure as well. The unexpected action causes Jaskier to flush slightly at the attention. Instead of wearing an evening suit like every single male in the vicinity, Jaskier opted to wear a white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the top two buttons undone. Completing his smart casual get-up is a navy blue waistcoat that hangs off his frame quite attractively, if he says so himself.

Finally, Triss hums and nods to herself before meeting Jaskier’s pink face with a teasing smirk.

“Look at you, looking so dapper,” his publicist remarks almost teasingly. “I didn’t know you owned a pair of slacks!”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “I adore you, but piss off.”

Triss just cackles and downs her champagne in time to replace it with a new glass when a server walks past them carrying a tray of drinks.

“Found anyone you want to snog at midnight by any chance?” Jaskier asks innocently.

Triss, who’s at least a decade older than Jaskier, eyes the teenager with suspicion.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” she replies in a sickly sweet tone.

Jaskier hides his flinch by grinning charmingly, his dimples apparent. He’s seventeen and _horny_ , for fuck’s sake. He can’t help it that his publicist is kind, whip-smart, _and_ gorgeous. Also, he’s just really horny.

“Not at all, my dear, incredible publicist,” Jaskier says with a mock bow. Triss rolls her eyes with a snort. “Just wondering, s’all.”

“Just because we’re in a New Year’s Eve party doesn’t mean I’m going to adhere to a silly tradition,” Triss says with another eye roll. Then she adds in a sterner tone, “And you, young man, better keep it in your pants. Last thing we need right now is someone catching you with your tongue down someone’s throat. Don’t think I saw anyone here within your age group so _behave_.”

Jaskier pouts, but it’s only for show. Triss knows it, too, because she just smirks at him and pats his cheek with a fond look.

“You basically just told me to be boring,” Jaskier points out after he downs the rest of his drink. God, he needs something stronger if he’s gonna last until midnight. Briefly looking at his watch alerts him that it’s still two hours away. Fuck.

Triss also finishes her drink before simply stating, “You’re an entertainer, love. I’m sure you’ll find something entertaining to do that’s PG-related.”

“In that case, I’m offering my services for a small, innocent peck at midnight.”

God, it’s so _fun_ pushing her buttons.

“I came here with a date.”

“I’m sure they won’t mind.”

“Don’t push it.”

Jaskier smirks and waves his fingers at her in farewell as Triss moves across the room after spotting someone familiar. He makes out an equally gorgeous woman with raven hair and violet eyes greeting Triss with a peck on the cheek before they walk away together, heads turned toward each other as they converse.

Back to being alone with his thoughts, Jaskier deposits the empty beer bottle on a passing tray and instead grabs a flute of the bubbly from another. He discreetly brings the rim of the glass to his nose to take a whiff and, upon finding that he doesn’t mind the smell, takes a small sip. Nonplussed, he finds himself liking the taste of champagne. In fact, Jaskier liked it so much that he went through two more glasses within the hour, in-between bites of hors d’oeuvre.

He decides to spend the last hour of the year mingling with the other guests at Redania’s residence. Record producers, DJ’s, songwriters, fellow artists and other celebrities with their dates flow in and out of the two-storey mansion. Jaskier notices his manager, Duny Knight, standing next to a ten-foot tall Christmas tree with a stunning woman with bronze skin and a stylish afro ‘do, the duo seeming to be in the middle of an intense conversation. Next, he spots the famous Scottish DJ Valdo Marx smoking cigar with Redania in the middle of the expansive entrance hall, the two laughing boisterously as they chat with other record producers under Redania’s label.

Jaskier meets Essi Daven, the folk-rock musician who won six Grammy awards in one night a few years ago. What Essi lacks in height, she makes up for in her powerful singing voice that never fails to take Jaskier into a different plane of existence. They talk for several minutes, Essi about her ongoing tour in North America and Jaskier about recording his second album. Afterwards, they split up and Jaskier finds himself singing an impromptu duet with Ellie Goulding, his ring-laden fingers not deterring him from playing the piano like a virtuoso. By the end of their, albeit slightly drunk, rendition of Fred Astaire’s _Cheek to Cheek_ , those who witnessed their performance clapped enthusiastically, and Jaskier managed to leave the room with little fanfare to relieve his bladder in the nearest loo.

With less than half an hour until the new year, Jaskier decides that he’s had enough of mingling with people who aren’t within his peer group. So after snagging his fifth flute of champagne and slipping on his overcoat, Jaskier steps out of the mansion via the backdoor in the kitchens. He doesn’t stop walking until he reaches a small fountain in the spacious garden. It’s snowing but not much, the air chilly enough that he finds himself shivering. Jaskier spots a bench to his right and after brushing off the snow, he sits there with one leg crossed over the other as he carefully sips his drink and takes in his surroundings.

He can’t distinguish the flowers in his vicinity, but Jaskier thinks it must be pretty to look at in the light of day. He breathes in deep and slowly lets it out, taking the time to appreciate the silence after being surrounded by noise and chatter the whole night.

Before he knows it, Jaskier distantly hears the music being cut off from the manor behind him, and the faint chorus of the people counting down indicates that he stayed secluded long enough.

Glass already empty minutes before, Jaskier stands up and dusts off flakes of snow from his hair and coat before trudging back the way he came from. He’s walking along the short pathway leading from the garden when he looks up from the ground and he sees a tall figure walking his way. The man, Jaskier notes, is dressed in the same uniform as the servers he saw inside. He’s probably on his break, and as the figure draws closer, Jaskier’s eyes wander over salt and pepper hair that is tied back, broad shoulders and a lean frame. Glancing up, Jaskier is struck by golden eyes staring back at him in mild amusement and… curiosity?

_”3… 2… 1… Happy New Year!”_

Jaskier had no intention to make small talk, except maybe to give the bloke a nod or something. But now that it’s officially the new year, he can hear the people inside cheering and belting out the lyrics to _Auld Lang Syne_ , and Jaskier thinks it would be incredibly rude to not say anything right now.

Ah, well. It’s not like he’ll see this mysterious, attractive bloke again.

“Uh, hi,” Jaskier greets softly with a dimpled smile as they pass by each other under the tree archway. “Happy New Year.”

The young man — and he does look young, despite the colour of his hair, the guy can’t be more than twenty-two — blinks at Jaskier in surprise. There’s a twitch in his lips but he doesn’t smile, though the teen singer thinks it’s his version of one.

“Hmm.”

His voice is low and deep, and it strikes a chord in Jaskier that he’s unable to hide his sudden intake of breath. A shiver runs down his spine that’s not at all related to the cold.

Jaskier finds himself halting in his tracks as he scoffs at the man.

“ _Hmm?_ Really?”

The man pauses and looks over his shoulder at Jaskier, one thick eyebrow raised as he regards the seventeen-year-old with an amused look.

“Happy New Year.” Then it’s quickly followed by, “Better?”

Jaskier clears his throat, thanking his stars that it’s dark so the other man can’t see his blushing face.

“Yes. Um. Thank you.”

“Hmm.”

With a parting nod and smirk, the handsome stranger carries on walking to the garden, leaving Jaskier standing under the archway feeling like he’s just stepped out of the weirdest, shortest fairy-tale story ever told.

**Author's Note:**

> Toss a kudos or a comment to your author, oh reader a-plenty!
> 
> **References/Quotes/Lyrics**  
>  _Long Live_ \- Taylor Swift  
> BPI (British Phonographic Industry) - official music certification in the UK. 7x Platinum is equal to 2.1M units  
> Jamie the interviewer - I specifically have James Corden in mind for this  
>  _Golden Skies_ \- original lyrics by me  
> Album Cover Art - designed by me   
> 


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